


If That's What You Want

by BreakTheDawn



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, Origin Story, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), did my best, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakTheDawn/pseuds/BreakTheDawn
Summary: “I’m a Human,” the man blinks, “and you’re a faunus.”He says it so matter-of-factly, as though he doesn’t understand the thrum of rage that pulses through Adam’s body at the fact that he was apparently saved and is now being taken care of by a fucking human.“I was saved by a Human…” he mutters, teeth gritting.“Two, actually.”“What!?” Adam shouts, and he feels it stab through his entire body.ORWhat happens when our resident human hater has to rely on one to survive? Plus a side bit of character study.





	If That's What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> Hi RWBY fandom!
> 
> So here's my first toe into this fandom, courtesy of NaNoRiMo! 
> 
> While talking to a friend of mine and trying to decide what I write for the month of November, it somehow turned into a challenge for me to take a bunch of nonredeemable characters and...make them a little bit more redeemable? And I figured, RWBY vol 6 is going strong right now, and I started out having a very real interest in Adam, and I wanted to see what I could do with this character. 
> 
> I tagged violence just to be safe, when it's actually kind of just the aftermath of violence, but mind the tags and warnings anyway! Pls Enjoy!

One of his first clear memories goes as such.

 

He’s six, fresh-faced and looking forward to his first day of school. It’s a milestone he’s always wanted to accomplish, because his mother was never able to finish school, and if he can succeed where she failed, he’ll have one more tool underneath his belt to be what his father never was for their small family. It’s the first time in his life during which he can perfectly remember the feeling of excitement. 

 

The schoolhouse is old, but well cared for, he’d always been drawn to it in the same way that he was drawn to his mother’s tools. He’d always looked at it and marveled at the things that he could do, if he only was able to grasp it. And now it was time. 

 

(His mother had always been adamant that he not touch the tools or weapons in the house before he got big enough to hold one without hurting himself, which was going to take a long time, but the schoolhouse had no such limitations.)

 

He remembers walking in for his first day of class, completely ignorant of the looks and stares, heeding his mother’s advice of “keep your head facing forward, no distractions now” like it’s his religion. He brazenly takes a seat near the very front, oblivious to the odd look the the teacher sends him from where she’s flipping through a worn book. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware of the fact that the thirteen other kids in the building are whispering, but at not point does it really occur to him that it’s him that they’re whispering about. Face forward, no distractions. 

 

Until there’s a tap on his shoulder. 

 

He looks to his right, gaze curious as it finds a boy around his age (there’s a mix of ages in the building, this is the only schoolhouse in town afterall). Brown hair, similarly colored eyes, humble clothing and a look of fascination that he isn’t sure he’s entirely comfortable with. 

 

“Hi,” the boy says plainly, “I’m Rocky.”

 

He stares back at the boy, at “Rocky”, unsure of how to proceed. This is unprecedented, none of the other kids in the village have made any attempts to speak to him before. At least not that he can remember. 

 

“Ok…?” he murmurs back, tilting his head to the side, aware of how the boy’s eyes follow the motion.

 

“I like your horns,” Rocky says, completely out of nowhere (or not really out of nowhere, if he really thinks about it now, but hindsight is 20/20). “They’re cool.”

 

It’s the first time anyone who isn’t his mother -and probably his father, but he doesn’t seem to have very clear memories of the man, which is probably for the best- has even acknowledged the small bull horns on either side of his head. And it’s a complement, which contradicts a lot of the things that his mother warned him about. Rocky thinks that his horns are cool.

 

He grins.

 

“Thanks,” he responds, “I think that they’re cool too.”

 

Rocky proceeds to excitedly ask a bunch of questions about his horns, curiosity untamed. And he answers, completely ignorant of how the whispers have escalated and the now-worried look that the teacher is giving them. 

 

“Face forward, no distractions now.” His mother had always said. 

 

Rocky was his first distraction.

 

…

 

He comes to awareness slowly, mind befuddled and hazy. Images of Haven Academy and the White Fang and Hazel and… Blake, flash behind his closed eyelids. Feelings of frustration, rage and humiliation follow and twist together before falling securely into the category of pure hatred. It’s about this time that the pain kicks in.

 

He groans against his own will, feeling a deep ache in his muscles that beats alongside his heart, a sharp pain in his left side, and an alarming feeling of numbness starting from his thighs and going all the way down. He remembers running, feeling like a coward and all the more angry for it. Remembers throwing his mask to the ground in frustration. Remembers that fucking chimera grimm coming out of nowhere, quickly followed by a pack of griffins that characteristically follow chimeras. Remembers cutting down over half of the pack with reckless abandon, finally able to channel his rage into something other than cursing that traitor’s name. And then the chimera had gotten one good shot on him, that cut through his rapidly depleting aura, and then nothing.

 

Which makes it odd that he’s even waking up right now. By all means, he should be very, very dead right now. But instead he seems to be laid up on what seems to be a cot or bedroll from the feel of it, stripped of most of his clothes and equipment, likely to apply the copious amount of bandages he’s beginning to feel, as well as unable to move when he tries, which is more than a little worrisome. He vaguely thinks that he should open his eyes and scope out wherever he’s been placed, but the idea of even trying makes his head throb, so he instead settles on sniffing lightly at the air. 

 

Beyond the scent of his own blood and dried sweat, there’s a smoky scent that comes from firewood, which is likely the source of the admittedly comfortable heat in the room. A waft of spices in the air, likely from a broth or stew. The subtle but sharp tang of medicinal herbs and disinfectant, with a hint of something earthy that he can’t quite identify. An oil, or a polish of some sort, along with the scent of metal. The smell of the sky just before a thunderstorm, lightning dust. 

 

He tenses.

 

The scents of the metal and the lightning dust seem to mix, and when he really focuses, he can also detect the scent of fire dust and...gravity dust? All connected to one focal point, all moving closer. 

 

It’s then that the sound of boots hitting the floor registers in his ears. He holds his breath as the person walks up next to whatever he’s splayed across. There’s the slight screech of a chair being moved, and the creaking of a body sitting down on it. The mystery person is breathing silently, and he has no idea what to make of this. 

 

“You probably have a massive headache, right about now.” 

 

It’s a man, voice mid-tone and resonant. Not a voice that he’s familiar with.

 

“I suppose that’s why you aren’t opening your eyes?” the stranger ponders aloud, “I certainly hope that it’s not because you’re pretending to be unconscious still, because that would be inconvenient. I kind of need you to eat and then take some medicine.”

 

There’s no real sign of deception just from his voice. But this person is now an unknown factor that’s close to him at his most vulnerable. He needs to see this with his own eyes, headache be damned.

 

Adam blinks his eyes open cautiously. 

 

It seems as though they’re in some sort of cabin, thankfully only dimly lit from what Adam can guess is a fireplace. It’s sparsely decorated, and it seems like he’s in the main living area, stretched across a futon. There’s what seems to be a kitchen visible through an opening that he can see from his angle. Not an ideal place for a fight, especially considering that he doesn't’ know where his clothes and weapons are, but he somehow doubts that the stranger would have went through the trouble of saving him only to try and kill him now. Speaking of said stranger.

 

Adam turns his neck stiffly and examines the person sitting next to the futon. 

 

He’s young, Adam would wager that the man is a bit younger than himself. With straight-falling black hair that brushes across the top of crescent-shaped dark blue eyes, a pale complexion and sharp bone structure characteristic of those born in Mistral. The man’s countenance is calm, and his posture relaxed as he leans back in the chair and observes Adam. He’s dressed like a civilian, with dark colored robes and no visible weapons, but Adam clearly smells weaponry on the guy, albeit faintly. 

 

“Welcome back,” the boy gives a small grin, “you were in a pretty sheisty situation there, when we found you.”

 

Adam means to open his mouth and question that statement, because he needs more information than what he’s got, but it’s then that he notices something else about the stranger’s scent. What comes out instead is a snarl.

 

The man merely lifts an eyebrow.

 

“You’re a human,” Adam seethes.

 

…

 

For as much as he doesn’t notice the tension that very slowly develops within the schoolhouse, Adam immediately notices the alarm in his mother’s tone when he explains that he’s made a new friend.

 

The word ‘“friend”, is a novel concept for Adam at age six. He’s never had a friend before, and he’s never known his mother to have friends either.She sometimes refers to the men and women from the village that come and get weapons from her as “friends”, but they tend to be kind of mean to her. Which doesn’t fit with the definition he knows of the word, so Adam figures that she’s not being entirely truthful with him.

 

Rocky is definitely a friend though, Adam comes to realize. They sit next to each other when they study, they read the materials together, and sometimes Rocky walks part of the way home with Adam.

 

It doesn’t quite fit within the “face forward, no distractions” motto that he likes to live by, bt having a friend feels nice. So nice in fact that he remains completely oblivious to the sneers and bitter chuckles other kids in the schoolhouse direct to them. That is, until Rocky is out sick one day.

 

“So,” one of the older boys in class begins, sliding down into Rocky’s seat that day. “Are those actually real?”

 

Adam frowns, because that’s Rocky’s seat,and this boy is not Rocky. He doesn’t remember this boy’s name, but he has no good reason to, because Rocky has been the only person he’s consistently spoken to for nearly two months by now. He recognizes what the older boy is asking about though, and while the tone of the question seems off to him, Adam sees no harm in answering.

 

“Yeah,” he nods, “they’re real.”

 

“No fooling?” the boy smirks, turning back to send a look to a small circle of kids that have somehow congregated around the table. Adam feels distinctly uncomfortable about the fact that he didn’t notice them crowding, but he still doesn’t quite get the gravity of the situation at that age.

 

“No fooling,” he confirms, “they’re definitely real.”

 

“And your mom has horns too?” A girl from the circle cuts in.

 

“Yes…?” Adam responds, giving her a confused look.

 

“And you guys both live in that tiny shack at the edge of town, yeah?” another boy, also older, asks.

 

Something about this particular question gives him pause. And his mind unwittingly goes back to his mother’s warning to be careful interacting with the other kids of the village. 

 

“Yes,” he responds tensely, “why?”

 

“My dad gets his weapons for his hunts from your mom,” the girl says, which doesn’t really answer his question. “He says that he work is good, but her horns always freak him out.”

 

Adam frowns harder at that. He’s beginning to get uncomfortable with this conversation. He looks around for the teacher, and finds her standing by the chalk board, not even looking in their direction, even though Adam knows that she must hear them.

 

“My mom’s horns are cool,” he states plainly. “Like mine.”

 

Because Rocky said that his horns are cool, and Adam thinks that his horns are cool too, but his mom’s more pointed and curved horns are definitely the coolest.

 

“Cool?” the boy sitting next to him snorts, “yeah, right.”

 

Adam feels his hands start to sweat as the circle of kids erupts into laughter. He’s not sure what’s happening here, but he knows by now that he doesn’t like it at all. 

 

“Alright,” the teacher finally calls, “we’re starting now, so settle down.”

 

Thankfully, the kids concede and disperse back to their normal spots in the room, but Adam is left feeling distinctly shaken. The teacher doesn’t even look at him as she goes through the lessons, and something about noticing it today makes him realize that she almost never looks at him, and when she does, it’s not a very nice look. 

 

His mother’s face is sad when he goes home and tells her about his day that night. She seems to hesitate, before holding him close and telling him that things will probably be better the next day, and to keep on facing forward. Adam agrees, because he’d do anything for his mom.

 

Things are not better the next day.

 

…

 

“I’m a Human,” the man blinks, “and you’re a faunus.”

 

He says it so matter-of-factly, as though he doesn’t understand the thrum of rage that pulses through Adam’s body at the fact that he was apparently saved and is now being taken care of by a fucking human. 

 

“I was saved by a Human…” he mutters, teeth gritting. 

 

“Two, actually.”

 

“What!?” Adam shouts, and he feels it stab through his entire body. Damn, he’s in really bad shape if he can’t even speak without pain. It sucks to admit it, but Adam doesn’t think that he can even really move right now. His aura still feels dangerously low, likely due to it trying to catch up with the blood loss. 

“My friend is a Huntsman,” the guy shrugs, seemingly not paying attention to Adam as he wriggles to see how much he can move on his own. The answer is not much. “He took care of the rest of the grimm, though you did a number on them,” he says with a chuckle, “and I looked at your wounds.”

 

A Huntsman. Bad enough that he had to be saved by humans. He just had to go and be saved by  a human huntsman. The pool of hatred in his gut rolls and he has to bite his tongue. He’s in no position to make this guy angry at him. His legs aren’t responding properly, and any attempt to move his torso is agonizing. 

 

“You were in impressively bad shape,” the guys says casually, standing up abruptly. Adam doesn’t flinch, but his fists do clench involuntarily. Even that sends pain racing up his arms and across into his sternum. “That Chimera had completely decimated your aura, and the griffins were doing their very best to open you up and snack on on your insides.” 

 

His voice is lofty, as though he’s talking about the weather, and he moves towards the kitchen.   
  


“They’d partially succeeded,” comes the explanation as Adam scans the room for his clothes or Wilt and Blush. “You probably feel as though you have little to no aura at the moment, yes?”

 

Adam clenches his teeth. His equipment is nowhere that he can see from his position. 

 

There’s a moment of silence between them as the man shuffles around in the kitchen. Adam perceives the spices scent from earlier coming closer, and the guy sits back down, this time with a mug filled with steaming liquid in one hand. 

 

“This goes a lot easier for the both of us if you tell me your symptoms,” the man suggests calmly, “I’m not sure what you were doing that put you in the path of so many grimm, but I’m fairly sure that you’ll want to get back to it as soon as possible?” 

 

Adam sneers.

 

“Where did you put my things?” he demands. To the man’s credit, he doesn’t react to Adam’s tone at all other than to look down. 

 

“You can’t see it because of your elevation,” he reaches down, bringing up Wilt and Blush in his left hand. Adam’s heart jumps at the sight. It was right next to the futon? “This is an impressive weapon,” the guy states, “or...at least I think it is? Certainly looks the part.” 

 

The man goes to set it down.

 

“Give it to me!” Adam growls. He tries to will his muscles to sit up, but it only serves to send a burning sensation throughout his entire body. He’s helpless to stop the resulting shout of pain.

 

“You think you can hold it like you are now?” the man asks, voice exasperated. “You’ve been out for going on five days already. Your aura is pitifully low, just enough to keep you alive. Your wounds haven’t even begun to close properly.”

 

Adam wants to protest, wants to deny being so weak that he can’t even sit up at the moment, but the facts are there. He was careless. No, he was a fucking idiot. And now the result is that his life is hanging on by the skin of his teeth. And all of this is happening in front of a random human, of all people. His life is in the hands of stranger.

 

“Are you being uncooperative because I’m Human?” the man asks curiously, “I have no prejudice or problems with the Faunus, if that makes you feel better?”

 

_ Yeah _ , Adam thinks,  _ but I have a problem with  _ your  _ kind.  _

 

The guy is annoyingly calm, like he has any right to just simply talk to Adam like they’re acquainted. Adam wants nothing to do with this man.

 

“You really need to get something in your stomach,” the man states, making a gesture at the mug. “I’ve been limited on how much I can help you along your recovery because I can’t have you ingest a stimulant for your aura. Still can’t, because you shouldn’t take such a strong medication on an empty stomach.”

 

But, like or not (and he really,  _ really  _ doesn’t like it), Adam still has things that he needs to do. And to do them, he can’t die. And to not die at the moment, it looks like he’s going to have to accept the help of this stranger. 

 

“So,” the man says, “are you going to help me help you?”

 

Adam grits his teeth and nods.

 

He’ll kill this man as soon as he’s on his feet.

 

…

 

An unfortunate trend begins after that one day where Rocky wasn’t around. Because Rocky turns out to be a sickly seven year old, and proceeds to miss more days of school.

 

The kids in his class begin to bother him on the days that Rocky isn’t there. They ask him uncomfortable and mean questions.

 

“Do you eat human food?”

 

“Can you understand animals?”

 

“Do you like to bathe? I hear some animals don’t like to bathe?”

 

“Why is your mom single? Is it because of the horns?”

 

And once he begins to refuse to answer them, because he knows enough to know when to stop entertaining people who have it out for you, they start with the teasing.

 

“I bet you’re going to grow fur when you get older!”

 

“You smell like a bull!” 

 

“Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable on the floor than in a chair?”

 

“Wow those horns are ugly.”

 

Adam tries to bring the teacher into exactly once. It doesn’t go well.

 

“Don’t put your hands on me,” the woman says harshly, when Adam pats her back to get her attention one day. She always ignores him when he tries to talk to her, so he’d done what he thought he needed to. The other kids in class see this, naturally, and begin to escalate. Soon enough, they stop waiting for Rocky to be absent.

 

“Rocky’s friends with a freak!”

 

“I bet if you spend too much time with him, you’ll catch what he has!”

 

It makes Adam confused and sad, but he never brings it up to his mother past the very first time, because he doesn’t like to see the sad look on her face. Rocky seems to be a bit uncomfortable with the new form of attention, but surprisingly enough, persists in being Adam’s friend. For a kid that’s often sick, Rocky has quite a bit of toughness to him.

 

“Don’t let them bother you,” his friend says one day as they walk back home, “we don’t need them. In a few years, we won’t even know them.”

 

They’ve been friends for well over a year at this point, and Adam is beginning to learn some uncomfortable lessons regarding his and his mother’s standing with the town. The hunters of the village that come to get weapons from his mom have never really gone out of their way to seem nice, but the older Adam gets, the more he realizes just how mean most of them are to her. It makes him angry. 

 

Angry enough that he snaps a few weeks after his eight birthday. He yells about how they treat her and how it isn’t fair, and lets it slip that he gets treated the same way at school. 

 

The heartbroken expression on his mom’s face makes him want to cry, but it’s quickly overshadowed by anger when she finally sits him down to explain to him why everyone is so nasty to them. For something completely out of their control. He’d already figured that their extra traits was the reason, but the idea that this treatment was common enough for it to be expected in a way? And that they’d moved to this village because his mom had been somewhere worse before? It infuriated him.

 

But it was ok. Face forward and no distractions.He’d get through school, get himself transferred to one of those special academies in the cities, and he’d make a better life for himself and his mom. And at the end of it all, he has Rocky, at least.

 

Until he doesn’t anymore.

…

 

Sitting up to sip at the broth is agonizing on two fronts.

 

One, it  _ hurts _ . Just the bare minimum amount of movement causes him an unyielding amount of pain. Adam’s been in a rough way many times in the past, but he can confidently say that he’s never been quite as damaged as he is right now. 

 

Two, the fact that the man with the blue eyes has to wrap an arm around Adam’s back to lift him feels like an insult, especially considering that the man has to leave his arm there so that Adam doesn’t immediately collapse backwards. 

 

Adam is honest enough to admit that the broth definitely helps though.

 

It’s flavorful, but light enough that Adam doesn’t feel the need to vomit from pain or from the fact that this is the first thing entering his stomach in five days. Blue Eyes remains thankfully quiet throughout the process of helping the Faunus sip from the mug. Adam doesn’t think he can take anymore embarrassment at the moment.

 

“Ok,” Blue Eyes says with a nod when Adam’s finally finished the entire mug. “So you’ve two options here,” the man states as he rearranges the pillows on the futon to prop Adam up. “You can either allow your aura to keep healing you at the crawl it’s been doing so far,” he offers, “because you seem to be pretty jumpy, so it wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t want to drink a medicine that I personally mixed.”

 

Blue Eyes isn’t a complete idiot,  Adam decides. He’s still going to kill him.

 

“Or,” the man stands and cross the room to pick up some sort of flask, “you can take this aura stimulant, which will help your aura close your wounds faster. It will significantly quicken your recovery time, but the rapid recovery will leave you extremely drowsy in between doses.”

 

“And you made it?” Adam scoffs. As if he’s going to take some odd medicine from a perfect stranger.

 

“I  _ mixed  _ it,” Blue Eyes corrects, pointing over to the fireplace, “it’s a common recipe in Anima, I just gather the ingredients and put them together.” There’s a certificate of some sort framed and hanging on a shelf over the opening. “I’m a doctor, if that makes you feel any better.”

 

“It doesn’t,” Adam deadpans. The document looks legit from what he can see, but didn’t get this far in life by just trusting people at random, least of all humans. Adam doesn’t even take the time to read the name beyond seeing that it starts with a “N”. “How long til I can walk again?”

 

Because Adam is no doctor, and he’s never been this injured before, he’s never let his aura deplete like this before either. Normally he himself can gauge how much time he needs before he’s back at full throttle, but Adam is uncomfortably aware of the fact that he still can’t really feel most of his legs. There’s no precedent here, and since Blue Eyes has been looking over him for this long already, then he figures the guy’s opinion must have at least a tiny shred of credibility.

 

“Until you can walk again?” Blue Eyes looks up in thought, “Er...I’d say a month?”

 

What.

 

“What!?” Adam shouts, but winces as it sends shocks of pain through his chest.

 

“You felt that right?” Blue Eyes asks calmly, “That pain? You can’t even exert your vocal chords without pulling at an injury. “

 

The man moves to sit on the chair again, fixing Adam with a stern gaze.

 

“When we got there, you were two steps away from being a pile of flesh.” He states bluntly, and Adam finds his eyes widening of their own volition. “It was bad, ok?” the man stresses, “You should be dead. And if not dead, you should no longer have functioning lungs or a spine. I don’t think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation you were in.”

 

The man holds up two fingers.

 

“Two thing contributed to your survival. One is your faunus genes, which make you sturdier than a normal human. Two being your abnormally responsive aura, if it didn’t flare up in response to the grimm’s fire breath, you’d be done for.” 

 

His semblance, Adam thinks. If he hadn’t had Wilt in his hands…

 

“Your aura has been extended far beyond its limits,” Blue Eyes states, “like I asked before, you can barely feel the aura, right?”

 

“...Right.”

 

“So yeah,” Blue Eyes nods, “a month. Your aura will attempt to repair the damage done to the organs located in your torso first, and then it will move on to your legs. But the aura itself isn’t going to have the opportunity to recover fully until your body is healthier. You’ve essentially hit a plateau.”

 

Adam swallows heavily, and tries not to think about how even that hurts.

 

“And if I take your stimulant?” he asks quietly.

 

He doesn’t have time to be out of commision for a month. There’s a power vacuum right now. The White Fang needs him, and he needs to re-establish control. Adam doesn’t know what Hazel and the others plan on doing, but too much is in flux for him to be absent. Moves need to be made.

 

“Shortens your recovery time to about a week,” Blue Eyes shrugs, “give or take.”

 

“A  _ week _ !?” Adam repeats, staring at the man.

 

“I don’t know where you’re from,” Blue Eyes says calmly, “but that’s not nearly as fantastical as you seem to think it is. Mistral’s  _ not safe _ , and we don’t have machinery like Atlas. Herbal remedies like this one,” he holds up the flask, “is pretty much all we’ve got going for us, so we’ve put a lot of work into making it work fast and efficiently.”

 

Adam hums. Blue Eyes has a point. 

 

“And the only side effect is drowsiness?” he asks. A week as opposed to a month. He’d have to be an idiot to not go for this, if it’s legit. 

 

“Fatigue or exhaustion is a more appropriate way of putting it,” the man explains, “you’ll only be lucid and energetic for about four hours between doses, and then you’ll almost immediately crash. However, at the end of a week, you’ll certainly be walking. You won’t be primed for any intense combat, but your aura will come out of this mostly restored to its natural level, so a full recovery will follow faster.” 

 

He ponders this option. Except...there’s nothing to ponder. Adam can’t move, he can’t fight, he can’t defend himself. If this human wanted to do him in, then he’d have been done in by now. It doesn’t quite make sense for Blue Eyes to waste all these resources on someone if he’s not genuinely interested in seeing them well again. Being laid up for a month is unacceptable, and Adam did this to himself by letting his emotions get the better of him again, so…

 

“I’ll take your antidote,” he decides. Blue Eyes an approving smile and moves to help Adam drink from the flask. He’s pleasant and seems competent, the Faunus can see how someone like this could be a doctor. The hatred still burns in his gut regardless.

 

Adam’s still going to kill him.

 

…

 

At some point in his life, Adam will come to expect betrayal, and he will begin doing everything in his power to cut it out of his life before it even has the chance to fester. 

 

Twelve year Adam doesn’t expect though.

 

His friendship with Rocky stays strong, even if his tolerance and calm with the other villagers weakens everyday. Kids are cruel, Adam learns, but if he keeps his face forward and allows no distractions, everything will be ok. This is the motto that carries him through tough days at the schoolhouse, watching the village Huntsman become increasingly rude aggressive and hostile towards his mother, and the new dark pit of anger in his gut that seems to fester more and more.

 

He begins training with the sword, following his interest in the Mistral sword-style called Iaido. His mother is a powerful advocate for him learning to fight, even if she seems to be slowing down herself due to the stress of keeping up with the Huntsman’s demands. The grimm are multiplying exponentially, which means more fighting, which means a bigger demand for reliable weapons. Adam worries for her, and the only person that’s safe to talk about his worries with is Rocky.

 

Which is what he attempts to do one day before class starts. 

 

“They’re being such assholes to her!” he complains, ignoring the look he gets from the teacher. She’s no better. “Can you believe that they have the nerve to blame her just because they don’t know how to take care of weapons right!?”

 

This is normally the part where Rocky expresses similar outrage about the treatment of Adam’s mother, because even though the two have only spoken a handful of times, Rocky is a genuinely kind guy who empathizes with their situation. 

 

Except.

 

Maybe not.

 

“I mean…” Rocky says hesitantly, “weapons  _ are  _ pretty important.”

 

Adam stills. 

 

“W-what did you just say?”

 

“My older brother went out with the Huntsman last week,” Rocky shares, “and his sword was snapped in two by an Ursa...he got hurt because of it. Do you ever think that...maybe they aren’t really exaggerating?”

 

Rocky isn’t too terribly close with his older brother, Adam knows, but he does care a great deal for his family in general. So in his head, he somewhat understands where this point is coming from. However, it’s not good enough for him.

 

“So you think that it’s ok for them to yell at my mother’s face and call her things like  _ ‘animal’  _ or  _ ‘savage _ ”?” Adam asks quietly.

 

“Well...no...but…”

 

“One of them grabbed her hair two days ago,” Adam mutters darkly, “put his hand in and twisted it all up into a knot so he could get all up in her face and tell he what a fucking reject he thought she was.”

 

Rocky flinches, because he doesn’t really like it when Adam swears. But he’s going stupid all of a sudden, and Adam is suddenly  _ so angry _ .

 

“A woman flicked her horn three weeks ago,” he grits out, “they’re sensitive, she had a headache all night.”

 

“I-I mean…”

 

“These people treat her like dirt,” Adam’s voice gets progressively louder, and he ignores the stare the teacher gives him. “Like her work hasn’t saved their miserable lives a hundred times over!”

 

“Don’t you think that’s a little mean?” Rocky asks quietly, “they’re just afraid of the grimm.”

 

“ _ Everyone is afraid of the grimm _ !” Adam stands up abruptly, ignoring the whispers and mutterings of the rest of the class. “Why does my mother get treated like scum just because we’re afraid of the grimm? If that’s how it is, then I can treat your brother like scum! Maybe I’ll get in  _ his  _ face and pull  _ his  _ hair!”

 

He’s outright yelling now, the whispers have stopped, and Rocky is looking at him in something akin to horror. It feeds the anger in his gut, makes him feel powerful. Adam wants everyone in this room to feel how his mother feels. How he feels sometimes.

 

He whips around and addresses a girl who makes it a point to say something about his horns being scary almost every other day.

 

“Or maybe I should get in your face and give you a reason to be fucking scared!” he shouts, and she flinches terribly. “Since you think these tiny little horns of mine are scary, I bet it’d be easy to make you cry! Did you know that my mother cries at night sometimes!?”

 

“M-Mr. Taurus…”the teacher tries, but Adam isn’t done yet. Enough is enough.

 

“And you!” he turns to the boy who likes to make fun of the house they live in, “you like to talk about our shack so often, maybe you want one? Maybe I should burn your miserable house to the ground and put you and your family in a shack, how about that!?”

 

He looks back to Rocky.

 

“Maybe my mom should stop making weapons for everyone,” he spits, “maybe your brother should find out what it’s like to take an Ursa with his bare fucking hands! I bet he’d really be afraid then!”

 

“Dude,” a boy a few years older than him calls, “chill out man, this is why people call your kind animals!”

 

Adam turns to him.

 

“You want me to be an animal so bad?” he asks harshly, taking a step away from his chair and stalking towards the boy, who goes pale. “I can be an animal if you want me to. I can be wild and rabid if that’s what you like.” Adam mutters, but it sounds so loud in the sudden silence. “Maybe if I claw you up, make you bleed. Maybe then you’ll be afraid of me? Just like the grimm?”

 

“Mr. Taurus,” the teacher shouts, “that’s enough right now!”

 

“A-Adam stop!” Rocky says, voice stressed. Adam halts his movement. “Are you going crazy or something!? You are acting like an animal!”

 

“Yeah?” Adam asks, turning back to the one kid he called friend. “It’s better than acting like a fucking wimp.”

 

The sound that Rocky’s nose makes when it shatters under Adam’s fist will reverberate through his head for years to come. It sounds like triumph, feels like justice. 

 

He likes it.

 

…

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Phew...This was an undertaking. I've always wanted to write for the RWBY fandom, but I've never really been sure where to start. This was meant to be a oneshot, but it was getting way long, so I split into two parts and I'll post the second part in a few days when I've finished rereading and tweaking it. 
> 
> So, Adam. 
> 
> This was a difficult character to get into the mindset of, so apologies if it comes off as super OC, but I think I'm happy with how this turned out. I attempted to keep his behavioral patterns as close to what's been shown as possible (even if I don't necessarily like the whole crazy Ex aspect of him) and still try and show how he got here, and how he may be able to move on from it. So here we've got him in a situation where he has to let a human help him out, and I hope my OC is likeable lol. If it was unclear, this takes place before the start of vol 6, so Adam's a little unhinged, but experiencing a moment of forced calm. Even getting angry causes him pain here, so he kind of just has to relax and trust that this nice human doctor is going to do right by him. 
> 
> With the young Adam segments, I attempted to construct a believable foundation for his hatred while still emphasizing that it was learned and agitated, and not inherent to his character. I hope it came out right lol, I was trying to portray not only mistreatment from humans, but also a lack of interaction with other Faunus, because to me it makes sense that Adam's ideals come from his limited experiences. He definitely hates humans, but he also doesn't seem to have much respect for other Faunus' (i.e not White Fang) opinions on humans, which tells me that he might not actually have too much experience with a lot of Faunus before the White Fang. But that could be just me. Anyways, stay tuned for more! Be happy and healthy!


End file.
